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"Not sure I brought enough ammo for everyone," Russell says with good-natured sardony. He rifles through his rucksack, carefully drawing out a SWAT-style tactical vest, and starts checking his pre-loaded magazines.
"If anyone turns up without their own kit then frankly they can fuck off home again. Our chances of success will not be improved by babysitting amateurs." Kate frowns, eyeing Jude then Russel. "We might be okay with four, but two more would make me more comfortable." She looks to Jericho, their de facto leader.
"Havelock will be coming for sure. It's his woman that they're holding." Powell doesn't look up from his notebook. "I'm sure there may be one or two more."
Kate sucks in her bottom lip for a few moments, drumming the fingers of one hand on the table top. "Fuck it. Is there a coffee machine in this place?" She pushes her chair back, standing, looking at Darius.
"I'll have the boys set one up." Darius sighs, closing his notebook. "While I'm gone, try not to plan any more illegal sorties or operations, if you wouldn't mind."
Kate doesn't sit back down, looking around the room and pacing a little, eventually leaning back against the wall near her seat and folding her arms across her midriff. "Illegal operations my arse. What a dick head."
Before long, Darius returns. Behind him, an intern carries a coffee machine, beans, cream, and sugar, struggling to keep it all contained in his arms. Powell sits back down and lets the intern drop everything and sort it on a table. The intern goes to plug the machine in and brew a cup, but Powell frowns. "Don't you have files to sort?" The intern nods and scurries, leaving you to assemble the machine and make your own coffee. Venetian hospitality at its finest.
Kate doesn't move from her spot at the wall. After a few seconds she frowns at Darius. "It's your fucking coffee machine. If you didn't want to set it up you should have let your lackey do it. Come on, people are thirsty."
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